


missed you so

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Feminization, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Seduction, Sexual Roleplay, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: “Mr. Francis, do you know how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other?”





	missed you so

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of a sequel to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528367)

“I think the garden needs to be weeded.”

“Yes, I think it does,” Crowley says lazily from the couch. He takes another sip of his tea, clearly not bothered enough to actually get up and go outside. He’s not even dressed, still clad in his boxers and a bathrobe. He adores his garden, truthfully, but he’s absolutely not in the mood to go outside and take care of it today.

“Oh, come now,” Aziraphale says. “You love pulling weeds. You get so creative with being destructive. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything,” Crowley mutters. “Just don’t want to get dressed. The garden will manage without me for one day. Besides, a healthy dose of neglect is probably just what it needs. I can’t have it thinking I _care_ about it.”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes, then turns back into the kitchen, making to rinse his mug out. Crowley shuts his eyes and listens to the water running in the other room, letting the warmth from his own mug seep into him. Aziraphale shuts the water off and returns to hovering in the doorway, watching Crowley lounge against the couch. Finally, he sighs. “I’ll do it.”

That gets Crowley’s attention; he cracks an eye open. “Sorry?”

“I’ll weed the garden,” Aziraphale says, crossing the den towards their bedroom.

Crowley sits up a little bit. “I’m not saying you have to, angel. I’ll probably get around to doing it this weekend.”

“Well, I want it done now,” Aziraphale says, in the not-quite-annoyed tone of a long suffering lover who secretly just wants to dote on the object of his affections. “Besides, I’m not a stranger to gardening. And weeding can be fun.”

“You mean you’ll do it by hand?” Crowley asks; he’s sat up fully now, his interest piqued. “Because you can’t just miracle them away. You have to make an example of them. You have to _pull them_ and show all the others what fate awaits them should they underperform.”

“You’re so dramatic!” Aziraphale calls from their room. “I’ll do it the way you like, you old serpent. I’ll even rip some of them in half the way you do when you’re feeling particularly menacing. Drink your tea.”

Crowley takes a hesitant sip of his tea. He opens his mouth to tell Aziraphale again, really, he doesn’t have to do anything, he could leave the weeds be for today and come curl up on the couch with him, but then Aziraphale comes back out of their bedroom wearing, well… _those_ pants. The kinds of pants he used to wear when he was a soft spoken gardener working at a manor, whose first and foremost job was meant to be mentoring a certain young boy who, as it turned out, didn’t really need it. The sight of them makes Crowley’s mouth dry, his mind consumed with memories of the games they used to play.

Crowley thinks for a moment. The nanny and the gardener had left the manor in 1985. They’d played the game a few times after that, but sex eventually took quite the backseat to the whole apocalypse business. And afterwards, with the move down to the cottage, even though Crowley had made sure to bring along the proper clothes should the occasion arise, it simply hadn’t come up. He thinks about it a little harder, before coming to the realization that he hasn’t had Aziraphale hike his skirts up and talk dirty in _that_ particular way in thirty-two years. Crowley hasn’t worn stockings for Aziraphale for _thirty-two years._

 _Well,_ he thinks to himself, pulling his legs up to hide his erection that’s becoming rather obvious, _that simply cannot stand._

“I shouldn’t be long, there aren’t too terribly many,” Aziraphale says affectionately. He crosses to Crowley and gives him a chaste kiss on the lips, not sensing in the slightest how aroused he is. “When I’m done, _you_ can decide what we do for the rest of the day. Even if you just want to lie on the couch in your underwear until the sun sets. Sound good?”

“Sounds lovely,” Crowley says, with great effort. He waits until he hears the back door shut behind Aziraphale before he darts to their bedroom to get dressed, abandoning his tea in the living room.

* * *

To his credit, Aziraphale is mostly finished weeding by the time he hears Crowley slither up to bother him. Aziraphale doesn’t look, knows it drives Crowley just the slightest bit insane to be ignored, but when he lays a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder it’s quite a bit more delicate than he’d expected it to be.

“Mr. Francis,” Crowley’s voice is quiet and soft, a certain sternness lurking beneath it, pitched ever so slightly in a way that he rarely ever manages to maintain. As soon as he speaks, Aziraphale shudders, looking hopefully over his shoulder and practically praying to see— _yes—_ Crowley all dressed up.

Crowley tilts Aziraphale’s chin up with his finger, looking down at him; he’s even wearing his sunglasses, which he never bothers to do anymore. When he speaks, Aziraphale’s attention is drawn to the rouge on his lips. “Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other?”

Aziraphale swallows; if he tried, he could tell him, but currently he can’t think of anything except what Crowley could possibly be wearing under those skirts. “How long?”

Crowley grips his jaw a little tighter, forcing his gaze onto his face. “Thirty-two years.”

“No,” Aziraphale says, not believing it for a moment. “Has—has it really been so long?”

“1987,” Crowley says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve had so many _dreams_ about that encounter, Mr. Francis. Why on Earth did you leave me alone for so long?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean to,” Aziraphale promises, slipping into the roll like one slips on a favorite coat. “I’ve missed you so. Tell me about your dreams.”

Crowley traces his jaw with his thumb. “I wake from them absolutely trembling with need. I dream of your mouth on mine, of you hands, those skilled fingers of yours… I dream of your _cock,_ Mr. Francis. I dream of wrapping my lips around it and feeling your hand musing up my hair. I dream of you…” Crowley’s breath hitches slightly, “… fucking my cunt until I scream your name.”

Aziraphale sighs; he reaches out to grab the backs of Crowley’s thighs through his skirts. “What a coincidence, Ms. Ashtoreth. For I find myself dreaming of my cock down your throat, and fucking so deep into your cunt you forget how to say anything _but_ my name.”

Crowley shudders. “I missed you talking like that.”

“Ms. Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale says, his voice low, “are you wearing stockings underneath these skirts?”

Crowley smiles. “I’m wearing _everything_ underneath these skirts.”

Aziraphale stands abruptly, grabbing Crowley around the waist and pulling him flush against him. In the blink of an eye, they’re standing in the bedroom, at the foot of the bed.

“Cheater,” Crowley growls, and kisses him soundly.

Aziraphale groans into it, moving his hands from Crowley’s waist to cup his face and hold him as close as he possibly can. Crowley responds in kind, pulling Aziraphale closer and grinding against him. Aziraphale breaks the kiss and stills him, resting his hands on his hips and holding him firm.

“So eager, Ms. Ashtoreth,” he chides. “Shouldn’t I be allowed to take my time with you? After all, it’s been so long.”

“I don’t want you to take your time with me,” Crowley says, and he’s adopted one of his more stern tones, the kind he used to use to reprimand Warlock, or another staff member who got just a bit too nosy.

Aziraphale kisses him again, savoring in the way Crowley presses against him, so full of desperation and longing. They had spent several minutes in bed just that morning snogging, and they’ve been _living together_ for the past twenty-eight years, but it somehow almost feels as though Aziraphale hasn’t held him close and had his way with him since the last time they played this game.

Aziraphale breaks the kiss, then very hurriedly removed Crowley’s sunglasses, tossing them to the side. “Oh, you’re perfect,” he breathes. He draws Crowley in for another kiss, this one much shorter, before he spins him around and pushes him down onto the edge of the bed.

“Ms. Ashtoreth,” he says, his voice low as he sinks down onto his knees; Crowley watches him with wide, lust filled eyes, “do you remember, I believe it was the summer of ‘84? When the boy you were watching went off to America with his family and we were rewarded an entire week to ourselves?”

Aziraphale lifts Crowley’s skirt just enough to expose his ankles, his feet—the heels he’s wearing. They’re still snakeskin. Delicately, he removes them, setting them aside and running a hand up Crowley’s leg to his knee, relishing in the feeling of the fabric of his stockings. “Do you remember? I took you to bed and had my way with you for seven days. Do you think of that often, Ms. Ashtoreth? Would you like me to do it again?”

Crowley is blushing deeply. “We can’t steal away for seven days.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale asks. He pushes his skirts up higher and places a chaste kiss on his knee. “Did you have plans? I need to make up for lost time, after all.”

Crowley cups his face in his hands. “Are you going to be rough with me?”

Aziraphale sighs, looking incredibly torn. “I want to take my _time_ with you, Ms. Ashtoreth.”

“Well, I don’t see why you can’t do _both,”_ Crowley insists, and Aziraphale hums deep in his throat.

“Would you like to know what I’m thinking of doing to you, Ms. Ashtoreth?” Aziraphale asks. “Or would you prefer to be surprised?”

“Tell me,” Crowley breathes. “Tell me with that filthy mouth of yours. I want to know about every lust-ridden desire in your head.”

“First,” Aziraphale says, running his hands up Crowley’s thighs and pushing his skirts up in the process, “I’m going to eat you out. I want to taste your cunt and let you ride my tongue until you’re writhing with pleasure.”

He pushes Crowley’s knees further apart so he can settle between them, toying with them hem of his stockings. “Then, I’m going to finger fuck you until you can’t do anything but sob my name.”

Crowley shudders as Aziraphale reaches up to run his fingers along the lacy underwear Crowley is wearing, tactfully keeping his touches light and only ghosting around his obvious erection. “Finally, I am going to tear you out of this outfit and fuck your pretty little cunt so hard you see stars. Make no mistake, Ms. Ashtoreth, you absolutely will not be able to walk tomorrow morning, so when you wake by my side, lust-ridden, desperately craving a second round, I will have no choice but to give it to you, seeing as you will be hopeless to all other activities.”

Crowley whines. “Will you let me keep the stockings on?”

Aziraphale breaks character. “My dear, I haven’t seen you in stockings in thirty-two years. You will not take these off until I _tell you_ to take them off.”

Crowley cants his hips forward. “Please—please touch me—”

“Begging?” Aziraphale asks, slipping back into the game. “So soon? Why, Ms. Ashtoreth, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Crowley sets a very firm hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “That’s the problem,” he says sternly. “I want you to take my cock out and make good on those promises.”

“Is that any way for a lady to speak?” Aziraphale chides.

“Is this any way for a gentleman to treat his lover?” Crowley counters.

“Only when she’s been naughty,” Aziraphale says in a low voice. “Only when she’s a desperate, wanton little thing who needs a cock buried deep in her cunt like she needs to breathe.”

“Mr. Francis,” Crowley says, feigning offense. “What sort of woman are you insinuating I am?”

“Oh, no, Ms. Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale assures her. “It’s not like that. You’re a good girl, so prim and proper and respectable. _Modest_ and _chaste_. I am not insinuating in any way, Ms. Ashtoreth, that you’d get into bed with any man. I am instead insinuating that I am the only man for you. That I make you so horny you’re unsure of what to do with yourself, and that you are positively insatiable, and I am the only one capable of giving you any momentary reprieve. Would you consider this true?”

Crowley groans. _“Yes,”_ he says. “I do adore you, Mr. Francis, and I do adore your _cock,_ and I’ve missed you so much. Some days the only thing I could do was think of you…”

“Think of me what?” Aziraphale prompts. “Tell me. Say it.”

“Think of you fucking my tight cunt,” Crowley breathes. “Rubbing and sucking my clit. It was all I could think of. It consumed me. I touched myself desperately trying to recreate the absolute ecstasy you bestow upon me.”

“When you touch yourself,” Aziraphale growls, “how wet do you get? Do you ruin your pretty lingerie?”

 _“Yesss,”_ Crowley insists. “Oh, please touch me. _Pleassse,_ I’ve missed you _ssso_ , I can’t stand it. Mr. Francis—!”

Crowley gasps as his lingerie dissolves into nothing, freeing his cock. He feels it rub against his skirts for just a moment, before Aziraphale ducks under them and takes his cock in his hand, licking it from the base to the tip, where he stops to lap up the bead of precum gathering there. Crowley gasps, his hands clutching the sheets. He wraps his legs over Aziraphale’s shoulders, moaning loudly as he takes him into his mouth.

Aziraphale bobs his head, taking Crowley deep and making him writhe. He pulls off for just a moment, breathing heavy even though he doesn’t need to. “Your cunt is delicious,” he groans, before sinking back down and taking him back into his mouth.

Crowley whines; it’s a high and long sound as he struggles not to thrust his hips up and fuck Aziraphale’s mouth. It never goes well when Crowley tries that, and Mr. Francis certainly isn’t above punishment. Instead, he twists his hands into the sheets, making desperate noises while Aziraphale sucks his cock as though it was what God made him to do.

 _“Ah,_ Mr. Fra— _ahh,”_ Crowley whimpers, using all his concentration not to fuck deeper into the warm wetness of Aziraphale’s mouth. “I— _pleassse,_ I’m going—I’m going to—”

Aziraphale hums, low in his throat, and pulls off of him, leaning back to look up at him. “You’re so very easy, Ms. Ashtoreth. Do you know that’s one of the things I adore about you? You’re so sensitive. I’d like to give you whatever you want tonight. I’d like to take care of you. So, tell me, would you rather I make you wait to come until my cock is deep inside you? Or would you like me to make you lose count of how many times I make you come?”

“I’d like you to be rough with me,” Crowley insists.

Aziraphale grabs his hips and pulls him closer to the edge of the bed rather abruptly, his grip almost bruising. “I _will_ be rough with you, if you’ll _kindly_ inform me how you’d like me to treat you this evening.”

Crowley has to stop himself from whimpering. _“Sssurprise me.”_

Aziraphale surges up and kisses him soundly on the mouth, and Crowley accepts and reciprocates immediately, running a hand through his soft curls as he’s pushed back onto the bed. Aziraphale straddles him, kissing him fervently, and Crowley squirms underneath him, warm and horny and craving any sort of reprieve.

“Mr. Francis,” he pants desperately, “please—won’t you undress me?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale says, “do you not remember the order in which I told you I would pleasure you? You’re forgetful, I know, when you’re overcome by lust, but try to be sensible, Ms. Ashtoreth. I’m going to finger that pretty cunt of yours, open you up for me, and _then_ I’m going to rip you out of this outfit of yours and fuck you until you see stars.”

Crowley squirms, trying to rut his hips up and grind against Aziraphale, but he holds his hips down firm. Crowley whines. “Can’t you do that now? Finger me in just my stockings?”

“Are you getting warm in all those layers, Ms. Ashtoreth?” Aziraphale asks. “Serves you right, I believe. You truly are the sexiest thing I have ever seen in all your skirts, trying to hide those stockings and that _lingerie—oh,_ I want to see you in _nothing_ but your lingerie. I’d like to tear off these high collared blouses and long skirts and fuck you in nothing but a pretty pair of lacy panties.”

 _“Yesss,”_ Crowley hisses, because there’s absolutely nothing he loves more than being admired. “Oh, Mr. _Francisss, pleassse_ touch me, I can’t _ssstand_ it—”

Aziraphale runs his hands up Crowley’s thighs, underneath his skirts, and he moans, writhing desperately to be touched. Aziraphale circles one divinely slick finger at his entrance, and then kisses him hard and slowly pushes in.

Crowley whines, tensing up everywhere, pressing up into Aziraphale as he gently opens him up. Aziraphale presses a kiss to his jaw. “Relax, my darling. Oh, my dearest one—Ms. Ashtoreth, you do know I love you so, don’t you? I’ve missed you dreadfully.”

He adds a second finger, and Crowley groans, canting his hips up desperately to get some friction on his cock. It rubs against his skirts, and he gasps at the minute sensation, chasing after it.

“Oh, you are insatiable,” Aziraphale sighs. “Tell me, how badly do you want my cock, Ms. Ashtoreth?”

“I need it,” Crowley moans, and Aziraphale grins wickedly and crooks his fingers, rubbing relentlessly against his prostate. Crowley cries out, grinding down onto his fingers.

“I know,” Aziraphale coos. “You like that, don’t you? You make the prettiest sounds, Ms. Ashtoreth. Tell me what you need.”

“Your cock!” Crowley insists, rocking against his fingers. “I need your cock in my cunt, I need you to fuck me in nothing but my _ssstockings_ , I need you to come _inssside_ me. _Pleassse,_ Mr. _Francisss,_ be rough with me, fuck my tight little cunt, I’m _ssso_ wet for you, I’m gonna _die_ if you don’t put your fat cock in me—”

Aziraphale kisses him silent, stifling the whine Crowley makes when Aziraphale pulls his fingers out. He breaks the kiss, then reaches between them and rips Crowley’s blouse open. The small, ornate buttons pop off, and Crowley moans as Aziraphale roughly untucks the rest of the blouse from his skirts, and then abandons it in favor of reaching down and kissing at the exposed skin.

Crowley, much in the way he enjoyed the dirty talk surrounding him having a cunt, but did not actually enjoy manifesting one, never bothered to manifest a bosom, either. Aziraphale didn’t think it made much of a difference at all (secretly he believed Ms. Ashtoreth would be a small breasted woman, anyhow), but he quietly hoped that if Crowley ever had bothered with such a thing, he still would have chosen not to wear a bra, because the mental image of Ms. Ashtoreth’s many layers being stripped away to reveal a completely bare chest absolutely delighted Aziraphale, and aroused him to no end.

“Dearest,” Crowley says hoarsely, clearly struggling through his arousal, “need I remind you that I can _feel_ desires?”

Aziraphale blushes, somewhat embarrassed to have been caught fantasizing in the middle of their game. “I’m well aware, my dear. Leave me to my imagination.”

Crowley smiles lazily. “Aren’t you gay?”

“Yes, I would say I am,” Aziraphale teases. “And I am hopelessly attracted to you in every form you have ever taken, because you, Crowley, without fail, are always the most handsome man I have ever and will ever meet.”

Crowley just about swoons, leaning up and kissing Aziraphale, unable to keep the smile from his lips. Aziraphale kisses him back, savoring the sweetness of it, before Crowley breaks it and whispers, “Fuck me.”

Aziraphale kisses him again, much more fervent, and then breaks it to fully undress him. He shoves Crowley’s blouse off his shoulders, and Crowley sits up just slightly to fully take it off, while Aziraphale hurriedly peels him out of his skirts. It’s difficult to tell which one of them cheated and miracled Aziraphale’s clothes off. Crowley is left in nothing but his stockings, his handsome cock absolutely weeping for attention.

“Do you still want to play?” Aziraphale asks, pulling Crowley closer by his hips. “I’ll happily have my way with you as my lover, if you’d like.”

Crowley, who had for the past several moments been staring at Aziraphale’s cock unabashedly, smiles wryly up at him. “Would you not consider us lovers, Mr. Francis?”

Aziraphale grins, drawing Crowley up close to him and sinking into him. Crowley moans loudly, pressing up against him, as Aziraphale holds him tightly, letting out a sigh into the crook of his neck.

“Oh, I adore the noises you make, Ms. Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale murmurs against his skin. “Please, don’t restrain yourself. Do you remember our evenings when we would steal away in the backseat of your car on our way home from work? I remember those encounters very fondly. On the side of the secluded road, you could be as loud as you liked—and I do know you can be _loud,_ Ms. Ashtoreth. Let me hear you.”

Crowley moans again, rocking his hips in time with Aziraphale’s thrusts. “Mr—Mr. Francis…” he groans, clearly trying very hard to keep himself from hissing. “Please, I—I’m _ssso clossse…”_

“Already?”

Crowley looks up at him. _“Sssay sssomething dirty.”_

Aziraphale shifts his hips, brushing right against Crowley’s prostate, and he gasps and cries out and rocks against him desperately. “There you are, Ms. Ashtoreth,” Aziraphale says warmly. “You’re absolutely delicious. I can’t tell you how many dreams I’ve had about fucking into your wet cunt, just making you absolutely writhe in pleasure.”

 _“Oh,”_ Crowley whines, clinging to him tightly. _“Mr. Francisss I—I—”_

“You’re ever so sensitive, it absolutely delights me,” Aziraphale says breathlessly. “Come for me. I’ll follow right behind you, come deep inside you, just as you like.”

Crowley wails, arching his back, rocking his hips with Aziraphale’s thrusts, growing messier by the moment, rubbing his cock against his belly. His eyes roll back in his head as he comes, his pupils dilated, and Aziraphale follows him over the edge, groaning into the crook of his neck and holding him close as the two of them rock against each other as they return from the high.

Crowley miracles away the mess after Aziraphale pulls out, slumping against him as he draws him into his arms. “I love it when you talk like that,” he says weakly, he words muffled as his face is half pressed into Aziraphale’s side.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agrees quietly. “And I absolutely adore it when you dress up for me.”

“I can tell,” Crowley teases, twisting against him and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He lays quiet, content for a moment, before he asks: “Aziraphale?”

“Yes, my dear?”

Crowley sits up, leaning against him and looking at him earnestly. “Is Mr. Francis ever going to propose?”

Aziraphale stares at him, then laughs. “Crowley, you’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“It’s a serious question,” Crowley insists. “They’re rather passionate lovers, he should propose.”

“Crowley, they’re not _real.”_

“You just fucked me like we actually hadn’t seen each other in thirty-two years. He should propose.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, amused; he wraps an arm around his trim waist and holds him close. “Do you _want me_ to dress up and propose to you?”

 _“No,”_ Crowley insists, embarrassed. “I’m just _saying_ we should maybe at least _discuss it.”_

Aziraphale grins in a rather wicked manner he’d never actually admit to, but it’s a look that excites Crowley greatly. “What?”

“How’s about,” Aziraphale says quietly, pulling Crowley closer for a kiss, “he does propose. And the next time we visit them, it’ll be their wedding night.”

Crowley shivers. “I like that idea very much.”

“As do I.”

Aziraphale presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “But for now I’d rather like to indulge in a nap, hm?”

Crowley pouts a little bit. “You said when you were finished in the garden, _I_ could decide what to do for the rest of the day.”

“Alright, what do you want to do?”

Crowley is quiet for a moment, and then he slumps against Aziraphale’s side and curls up against him. “Nap.”

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just have a thing for crowley in that nanny costume okay?


End file.
